Soul on Fire
by Em Wolf
Summary: Ryro. She was the worst kind of traitor, because not only is she betraying her ideals, her friends, her boyfriend, but also her heart. Post X3. Spoilers.


**Disclaimer**: Yeah, I own nothing. What else is new?

**A/N**: I'm sorry. I've been obsessing over this ever since I saw X-3. I've recently developed a thing for Pyro, yum, and I had to indulge myself in a little Ryro since I can't get him out of my head.

So yeah, this does follow the movie. The only alteration will be that Rogue has not been back to the mansion after her little run in with Pyro at the clinic, so she doesn't know of anything that has occurred at Alcatraz save what's been on the news.

Enjoy.

**Summary**: Eventually Ryro, hints of Bobby/Rogue. She was the worst kind of traitor, because not only is she betraying her ideals, her friends, her boyfriend, but also her heart. Post X-3. Spoilers.

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**_One._**

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The tavern was shrouded in darkness and shadows that even the mute, florescent glow from the individual lanterns hanging above each table and those strung along the outer edge of the bar could not reach. The effect was comforting, in a way. It hid you, cloaking your presence from the suffocating clutches of light; that light that always revealed too much, stressing things you didn't want to see, things you were too cowardly, too ashamed to face.

Rogue inhaled deeply, reveling in the atmosphere, the sweet solitude offered, and was hit with a sudden wave of nostalgia that was not her own. The scent of must and of smoke and alcohol wafted in the air so strong that she could taste it on her tongue, feel it on her skin, see it as if it was a living, breathing entity staring her straight in the face.

She tapped the end of the cigar on the ashtray and brought it to her lips. The smoke unfurled within her mouth, burning a path of fire down her throat and ravaging the soft tissue within before smoldering languidly in her lungs. The nicotine of the cigar drowned out some of the murmurings and whispering that echoed insistently within her mind, too noisy to be considered white noise, but contained enough so that they didn't interfere with her though process, most of the time anyway.

She had come here for a diversion, had indulged the impressions of Logan's psyche – one of the specters whose presence she took comfort in — to escape the warring emotions struggling for dominance on an internal battlefield. It had been too much; the death, the fighting,…the Cure.

Rogue had left the mansion days ago, only to come back empty handed and with her powers still intact. But instead of returning to the Institute like she had planned, Rogue had stopped off at one of the Wolverine's favorite retreats to distract herself from her failure, from her curse.

She'd failed to do the one thing she had set out to do and it was all because of _him_.

Rogue rubbed her temples and reminded herself that she'd come here to get away.

Fortunately a diversion in the form of a bartender had just drifted back down towards her end of the bar. "Hey, can I get a Sam Adams?"

The man glanced over at her, and then did a double take as if noticing her presence for the first time. A slow, lecherous grin crawled on this face. He leaned on the counter, the breech of her personal space causing her senses to become assaulted with the stench of sweat, alcohol, and marijuana.

"Aren't you a little young to be ordering a grown up drink?" he shot her a suggestive smile with stained teeth that had seen entirely too many swigs of beer.

Her disgust was instantaneous. "And aren't you a little old to be hitting on minors?"

An opportunity lost, the bartender's weathered features drew into an unflattering scowl. "And minors don't belong in places like this. So why don't you take that sweet little butt of yours and beat it?"

The urge to sink her claws into the man came on swift wings. This idiot didn't know who he was talking to. Rogue came to her feet and grabbed the man's collar in one fluid movement. "Listen bub," she growled tightening her grip on his grimy shirt, "all I want is a beer. You're going to give me said beer or else I'll call the police and tell them all about that little drug trafficking business you have going on upstairs."

His dark eyes bulged with fear and panic. "What the hell are you talking about?"

"You think I can't smell all of the pot reeking from the attic?" She watched his Adam's apple bob up and down nervously. Satisfied that her point had been gotten across, Rogue roughly released him and sat back down. "Now, about that beer."

Needing no further incentive, the bartender hurriedly pulled a bottle out of the fridge, popped the cap, and hesitantly placed it in front of her along with a frosted mug.

Rogue eyed him warily as he wandered away and poured the beer into the mug. The cadence of her heart skipped a beat as the liquid filled the cup, its dark, tawny tint striking a chord deep within her.

Someone she knew had eyes of that color; that vivid amber, that color of a burgeoning, all-consuming fire with flames that licked at the sky.

_John_.

Why couldn't she get him out of her head? Rogue quickly downed the beer, hoping the burn of it would vanquish her wayward thoughts.

It didn't.

Rogue coughed suddenly, choking on the liquid; its bitter taste no longer holding an appeal. 'Thanks Logan," she thought wryly as his psyche began to retreat back to the mesh of personalities all vying for her attention.

**You don't need to be drinking this crap, kid. Get out of here and go back to the mansion where you belong.**

She tuned him out; she tuned all of them out. The scents and the noise all faded away, stripping her of the enhanced senses and leaving her as vulnerable as a newborn kitten. The transition was uncomfortable, making her feel as if she had become blinded, deafened, and smothered all at once.

But even with the world dulling around her, her mind refused to relinquish its hold on that singular thought, those haunting eyes.

'_Damn you John_.'

She'd been so close to attaining the normalcy she'd been craving all her life, so close to being able to touch, to feel the warmth of another human being's skin, to close all gaps separating her from others.

And then he had to ruin it.

Rogue had been waiting in line with all of the other mutants to receive the cure; that one-way ticket out of a life destined for discrimination and alienation when she'd seen him. Actually, she hadn't seen him per se, but felt his gaze penetrating through the hood of her coat like a laser, searing holes in the back of her neck until she'd had no choice but to turn around and acknowledge the source of the forceful pressure.

They hadn't spoken words to one another, but the message smoldering those whisky-colored eyes of his had said it all: traitor. She was betraying her kind, betraying her ideals, betraying her very essence for a chance to become one of them.

The connection hadn't lasted long. Seconds later a burst of flames erupted from the building, spitting out glass and debris over the mutants waiting in the line below like it too despised them for what they were about to do.

'_He has not right to pass judgment on me_,' she thought bitterly. '_He was the one who turned his back on us to join the Brotherhood. He is the real traitor._'

**I'd rather be a traitor than a sell-out.  
**

Rogue jumped in her seat at the intrusive voice. She turned, but there was only empty space lingering behind her. Unbidden, a warm flood of thoughts, feelings, and desires began poured into Rogue's consciousness.

The mental barriers the professor had taught her to erect within her mind were failing to hold back one of the psyches she kept locked up tighter than the rest.

**I wonder why that is. Why do you keep me caged in here so tight, Rogue? What are you afraid of seeing? Of hearing?**

'_Shut up Pyro._' Rogue forced herself to concentrate on pushing the specter back with the others, but for some reason he managed to evade the maneuver, her mind reaching out but grasping nothing but a fistful of air.

**You're so pathetic. Do you know how sick I am of hearing you whine and complain about not being _normal_? **

'_I don't care what you think. You're not even real_.' And he wasn't. He was just a fragment, destined to float within the dark abyss of her mind forever.

**I'm real enough to know what a waste of genes you turned out to be**.

Rogue didn't want him in her head. She didn't need to hear all of her character flaws rolling off of the tongue of an arch enemy. And for the thousandth time she wished that she'd never touched him, never absorbed his energy and tinged her mind with his essence.

She found it hard to believe that they'd been friends at one point, if you would even call it that. His scathing cynicism, the penchant for showing off and his devil-may-care persona made it hard to breach the lines that separated associate from friend. He was an asshole that was too arrogant for his own good, flirting in the face of danger with the same passion and gusto he did with every pretty female that came along. Rogue had assumed he had tolerated her presence in the first place mainly out of the mutuality of Bobby and her assumptions proved true the moment her hand wrapped around his ankle and his thoughts and feelings swamped her psyche.

He neither hated, nor had a particular liking towards her. He believed her weakness lied within her inability to embrace her mutation like the gift it was rather than a curse. It was an annoyance that constantly rubbed his nerves raw when she put herself down, complaining about how she couldn't touch instead of harnessing the ability to be used into a useful weapon.

It was part of the reason he hadn't been too concerned when Magneto had kidnapped and tried to use her mutation to convert the humans into one of them even when he knew the consequences. At least Magneto had attempted to do something what she'd been too spineless to do herself…

Rogue shoved the thoughts and memories into a compact box, snapping it shut tightly before she saw anymore.

A pain she didn't want to recognize pinched her heart.

He really hadn't cared for her.

Tears she refused to let fall burned behind the sockets of her eyes. And to think she'd actually missed him when he abandoned them to join the Brotherhood.

Rogue stood quickly, grabbing her bag in the process, and tossed a few bills on the counter for the beer before taking her leave.

It was time to go back.

A light drizzle had decided to grace the night, allowing a brief reprieve from the humidity and heat that had plagued the day because of soaring temperatures. Raising her head to the black, starless sky, Rogue took a deep breath and let the damp, night air inflate her lungs before exhaling in a wispy puff that hovered in front of her face before dissolving into nothing.

The mansion was shrouded in silence when she arrived. The large, looming building had been splayed against a backdrop of shadows that even the streetlamps wouldn't venture to illuminate. She paused with a frown before entering through the wrought iron gates, the tug at Rogue's gut alerting her that something was out of place. A sense of wrongness hung in the air like dead weight.

Swallowing the nervous lump that had wedged itself within the walls of her throat, Rogue pushed onward despite the thickness of the tension that had been draped over the manor. She found that the alarm system had been disengaged upon reaching the door, yet another indicator that something was off.

The halls were silent and empty. Rogue closed the door and padded softly along the hardwood floors, trying to draw as little attention as possible. People tended to wander around the mansion at odd hours of the night and she didn't want to be caught coming in at 3 something in the morning. It was too early for a lecture or a run in with someone she didn't want to see.

Rogue was just about to pass the den when she felt about half a dozen pairs of eyes attach themselves to her form.

So much for not getting caught.

With a feeling of obligation she could really do without, she hesitated for a split second before half-turning toward the occupants of the den, angling her body so that she could make a quick retreat if necessity called for it.

Kitty, Jubilee, and a couple of other kids sat on the couch in a strained silence while Piotr stood, his arms crossed over his massive chest, his face donning a worried expression.

"Rogue, welcome back." Kitty Pryde was the first to speak up and managed a watery smile from her place on the couch, her large eyes slightly damp with unshed tears. She looked tired. Dark circles hung beneath her eyes, her blonde hair had been pulled back into a scraggly ponytail, which happened to be very un-Kitty-like, even at 3 a.m. She made it a priority to look her best round the clock.

Rogue plastered on a smile for show in return, though what she really wanted to know what the hell was going on. "Isn't it a little early for a welcome back party?" she joked, attempting to alleviate some of the anxiety emanating from the room.

The joke got a few, forced smiles, but nothing lasting more than a couple of seconds.

"Why are you guys up?" she asked again when they lapsed into a tense silence.

Kitty chewed on her bottom lip and Jubilee glanced downward at her bare feet, neither offering an answer to the question suspended above them all like a bad odor that wouldn't dissipate.

"Marie, maybe you should go to sleep. There will be plenty of time for questions later on this morning," Piotr spoon fed her the words gently, as if she would choke without the added tenderness.

Her heart jolted sharply. "What happened at Alcatraz?"

More silence.

Fear gripped her chest. She needed answers now. Rogue tossed her bag to the floor and quickly ran to the elevator. It couldn't be Logan. His regenerative powers would have healed him. A knot tightened within her belly. Was it Storm? Beast?...Bobby?

The ride down was a short eternity, the seconds stretching by the mile and there was nothing she could do but wait until the doors finally opened. Not quite running, but moving entirely too quickly to be considered walking, Rogue made her way to the lab, praying and hoping and wishing that everyone was alright.

It could have paranoia.

Yes, paranoia.

Maybe she was just being paranoid.

Rogue slowed her steps as she approached the medical wing. The windows finally materialized and inside she could see, much to her relief, Storm, Beast, and Bobby standing around the bed that an exhausted Logan was sitting upon. And though bandages covered his lower torso and parts of his arms, she was sure that he'd be fine by mid-day.

But before she could let out the sigh that had worked its way into her throat, another body became visible through the paned glass, his body lying beneath the stark white sheets, tubes, wires, and attachments all linked to bleeping monitors and machines surround either side of the bed.

Shock held her body momentarily paralyzed mid-movement, the complete unexpectedness of the sight that greeted her eyes stealing her very breath.

_John_?

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A/N? 


End file.
